


They say I'll be ok, but I'm not going to ever get over you.

by Trophy_Kill1991



Series: Odds and Ends, One-Shots and Drabbles... [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: CA:TFA, I'm Sorry, Inspired by Music, Just incredibly sad, M/M, Oneshot, Sad, Steve Angst, Steve Feels, Steve Needs a Hug, Stucky - Freeform, i don't know why i do this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-04
Updated: 2014-10-04
Packaged: 2018-02-19 19:10:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,989
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2399615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trophy_Kill1991/pseuds/Trophy_Kill1991
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three days had passed since Bucky had fallen from the train. Three days men had scoured the ravine to find the body, so they could ship it back to American soil to be laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery with the rest of the dead servicemen. Nothing had been found. But Steve was determined to find his friend. He’d sent several more groups out earlier that morning, and had yet to hear any word on their findings.</p><p>Steve already knows that they more than likely didn’t find a damn thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	They say I'll be ok, but I'm not going to ever get over you.

**Author's Note:**

> Living alone here in this place  
> I think of you, and I'm not afraid.  
> Your favourite records make me feel better  
> 'Cause you sing along with every song  
> I know you didn't mean to give them to me.
> 
> But you went away,  
> How dare you.  
> I miss you.  
> They say I'll be ok,  
> But I'm not going to  
> Ever get over you.

Steve doesn’t know how he managed to finish the mission and return Zola to the American base, but he did. He doesn’t know how he was able to keep his composure during the debriefing either. Perhaps the years of learning how to bury his emotions deep down in a secret part of himself that he’d always kept locked away. Somewhere where his deepest, truest feelings still reside. It was only when he found himself at the same little pub in England — despite the fact that it’s now crumbled and near destroyed — that Steve allowed himself to break down. Peggy had found him three quarters of the way into a bottle, and still sober as a judge. 

 _Damn the serum._ Steve pounds back shot after shot of liquor, feeling the way it sears and burns his throat, but nothing more. 

 _Damn Zola_. Another shot and the same familiar burn that does little to quell his rage. Tears splash on the table top, and a gentle hand rubs circles between his shoulders. 

 _Damn Bucky. Damn him. Damn him. DAMN IT ALL!_ Without thinking, he hurls the glass in his hand across the mangled bar where is shatters into a million little pieces. Peggy sighs sadly beside him, and winds her arm around his shoulders just as he loses it completely, sobbing into his hands. 

“I know, Steve.” She says, her warm voice right in his ear as his head rests on her shoulder. “We all miss him.” 

Three days had passed since Bucky had fallen from the train. Three days men had scoured the ravine to find the body, so they could ship it back to American soil to be laid to rest in Arlington Cemetery with the rest of the dead servicemen. Nothing had been found. But Steve was determined to find his friend. He’d sent several more groups out earlier that morning, and had yet to hear any word on their findings.

Steve already knows that they more than likely didn’t find a damn thing. 

Three days had passed since his best friend had been taken from him. Three days that Steve had not allowed himself to grieve, busied himself to the point of utter exhaustion to keep his mind from the fact that Bucky was gone. He’d known long ago, before coming over here, before the serum, that there was a good chance that Bucky was never going to make it back. It was a fact that he’d thought he had accepted, as most families had when their young men were either drafted into the fight, or voluntarily put their lives on the line for the greater good. Steve always knew that Bucky was likely going to die, like most of those other young men. But part of him hoped that his God, his merciful and loving God would return his best friend to him. 

Three days ago Steve Rogers had begun to question his belief in such a God. 

So he sits in the ruined tavern beside this beautiful woman who holds him tight and whispers comforting words in his ear as he cries. Bucky had been his whole world. His best friend, so close they were nearly brothers. Bucky was the one reason that Steve had lived long enough to even come across Dr. Erskine and his serum. Hell, if it hadn’t been for Bucky, Steve never would have been anywhere near the recruitment office set up at the Stark Expo. Bucky made Steve into everything he’d become, without ever realizing it. He always wanted to live up to the expectations his best friend had for him, wanted to be worthy of the other man’s friendship. But it wasn’t just that. No, it was so much more. Much more than people knew, or would ever understand. 

Steve loved him. Not just in that platonic, brotherly way that close friends often share. No, he _loved_ Bucky. And Bucky had loved him too. 

It had started just before Bucky had enlisted, had continued through the various missions the Commandos had been sent on. Of course, the team always suspected something, but nobody ever questioned it. Steve belonged to Bucky, and Bucky to Steve, and that was just the way it went. Sergeant Barnes was always Captain America’s right hand man, the one who would watch his back, second in command. There was never any questioning it, because that’s how it should be. And every day, Steve just fell more and more in love with his best friend. 

Until three days ago. Everything came to an abrupt end when Bucky fell from the train and his terrified screams had been echoing in Steve’s head ever since. He had been just a fraction of a second too late and now all that was left of his friend was the screams that had been haunting his dreams for the past three damned days and, no matter how hard he tries, he can’t block it out because alcohol isn’t fucking working.  

“Steve, come on. We need to go back to base now.” Peggy is saying, not that Steve cares. There’s not much he cares about now. “We have a tactics meeting first thing in the morning.” Steve just wipes his still leaking eyes with the handkerchief she passes him and gets to his feet. Outside, a car waits for them, and takes them directly back to the base. Silence hangs between them for some time, as the driver brings them closer and closer to their destination. “I hate to bring this up now,” Peggy says, once again reaching to Steve’s hand. Her slim, though calloused, fingers close around his and he turns his eyes to hers; deep brown orbs peer over at him, shimmering with tears of her own. “We need somebody to sort through Sergeant Barnes’ belongings… In case he has something that may be of use to another soldier.” 

Steve knows that this is a nicer way of telling him that they want to raid Bucky’s clothing for anything that’s not too worn or damaged to share among the other men. Supplies had been tight for the past few weeks, and the men needed clothing to keep warm. He just nods as he looks away from her eyes and back out the window of the car. 

“I can have his footlocker brought up to your quarters, if you’d like?” She says. 

“Not necessary.” Steve replies, voice rough from the tears. 

“But someone —“ 

“It’s already up there, Agent.” Steve explains, stone faced. “Sergeant Barnes forfeited his own rooms. He stayed with me.”

“Beg pardon, Captain?” Peggy questions. 

Steve huffs, because it really isn’t that difficult a concept to figure out. “We shared a room, Peggy. We shared a bed. We…” He takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “We shared a love that burned too brightly, so fate took him from me.”

Peggy’s face falls into one of such sadness and grief, and Steve feels the pity rolling from her in waves. They’d been so careful not to let anybody know that they’d been sleeping in the same room, as his room was one with only a single queen sized bed. But it mattered little now, because Bucky was dead, and Steve was alone. He can see her reflection in the windows of the car, sees the tears that roll down her pretty cheeks as he confirms what everyone always thought. Her hand tightens around his, and Steve closes his eyes as more tears streak his face.

Once they arrive back to the hotel that had been serving as the barracks for the higher ranking men, Steve’s feet carry him back to his room. For a while he just sits on the foot of his bed, staring at the battered trunk which bears Bucky’s belongings, his name and identification number stamped across the top in black paint. He knows that once he opens it, and starts going through the things inside, the tears are going start and they likely won’t stop. But this is something he’s got to do, something his commanding officer had requested of him, so he has to do it. So he takes off his uniform jacket and shirt and sits on the floor.

Steve unlatches the lid and takes a breath before diving into its contents. There isn’t much, hell, they never had much even before they came overseas. Some papers, a stack of letters Steve had sent him before Erskine’s program, some clothes, a spare pair of boots. Steve goes through each item, turning them over in his hands and scanning them like they held the secrets of life. His old razor lies in one corner of the trunk, and Steve tucks it away in his own belongings; it had belonged to Bucky’s father, and his grandfather before him. _He may not be able to pass on to his children, but should I have any, I’ll give it to them, and tell them about the brave man their Godfather was._ Steve thinks sadly, feeling the tears already starting to brim in his eyes. 

He reads over the letters he’d sent while Bucky was away and finds himself wondering how the pair never gotten caught. Neither of them had been very discreet in their writings to one another, several times openly saying how much they loved and missed the other. Steve leans back against the foot of the bed and smiles sadly down at the last letter he’d had to send before tucking it back into the envelope it had come in and laying it with the rest. 

A copy of Bucky’s favourite book sits on top of the pile of neatly folded clothing inside, and Steve picks it up gingerly, fingers grazing the worn-to-death spine of the paperback binding. He could still hear Bucky’s voice reading him passages from it when he was sick, could still feel the way his voice reverberated in his chest as it pressed against Steve’s back while they snuggled in close on the couch. He flips through the pages for a minute, lost in thought, when a photograph slips from the book and into his lap. “Oh Bucky…” Steve sighs, shaking his head with a sad smile.

It had been taken the summer before Bucky had enlisted on Steve’s birthday. They’d spent the entire day at Coney Island, somewhere they’d long before deemed their place. Bucky had spent all spring saving up enough cash to treat Steve like a king that day; bought them cotton candy and popcorn, treated him to a meal at the little diner there too. And before the Fourth of July fireworks went off, Bucky had dragged Steve into a photo booth. The first picture had been a nice one, the pair of them smiling big and bright smiles, Bucky looking dashing and handsome, and Steve looking… Well… Not. By the second one, Bucky had turned his head to look at Steve, who was still facing the camera; he was still smiling, though this time it was more of an adoring smile as he stared at Steve like he was the most gorgeous thing on the planet. In the third one, Bucky had raised his hand to turn Steve’s face towards his, their foreheads pressed together, loving smiles on both their lips. 

But it was the fourth one that Bucky had taken with him and Steve can still remember it like it was yesterday… 

_…The booth was so small that Steve had to practically sit on Bucky’s lap, and the little lightbulb in the booth made it incredibly hot. Though, the weather outside wasn’t much better. “This is a bad idea, Buck. We’re gonna miss the fireworks,” Steve had argued as the two of them got themselves situated so they could both see the camera. The little mirror above the lens allowed them to see just what the pictures would reflect, so when they were both happy with their seating, Bucky leaned forward and popped a coin into the slot._

_“Ah, can it, Punk! I’m sure it won’t be any different from last year.” Bucky laughs, slinging an arm around Steve’s skinny shoulders. “Now smile!”_

_Steve laughs and grins wide, and the camera flashes. Their day had been perfect, and he was riding on cloud nine right now. Bucky had surprised him with a day at Coney Island, and it had been wonderful. They’d done all Steve’s favourite things, even the stupid ones like walk along the crowded beach just to feel the sand beneath their bare feet. And now, to top it all off, Bucky had hauled him into this photo booth to capture the memory. But as the camera flashes a second time, Steve feels eyes on him, and in the little mirror, he sees Bucky gazing at him all moon-eyed and in love._

_“Bucky!” Steve hisses. “Quit it!”_

_But the older boy doesn’t. “No one’s gonna see, Stevie.” Bucky tells him, as a warm hand turns Steve’s face away from the camera. “S’just us here… Everyone else is watching the fireworks.” Sure enough, outside, Steve can hear the constant booming and crashing and crackling of the yearly fireworks display. The camera flashes again as their eyes meet, and Steve can’t fight the adoring smile that spreads across his features. He’d never loved anyone — save for his Ma — as much as he loved Bucky Barnes. “Besides,” Bucky continues, blinking away the residual affects of the previous bright flash of light. “You’re my best guy, and I love you.” He pushes a stray strand of hair from Steve’s eyes before leaning in and catching Steve’s lips with his._

_Steve knew it was wrong to do this in public. They could get arrested, or worse, beaten to death. But regardless of those fears, he melts into the way Bucky’s lips feel against his, and cards his hand through the brunets thick, wavy locks before resting it at the base of Bucky’s neck. Bucky cups his jaw in one hand and keeps kissing him as the final flash goes off, and Steve can’t help but smile against those perfect lips…_

His eyes fill up as he presses the slightly battered picture to his chest. But he still has work to do. So Steve clears his throat and tucks the picture into his own trunk with the razor and keeps sorting through Bucky’s belongings. All that’s left are his clothes. Steve salvages a couple not-so-worn pairs of socks, some pants and a sweater, laying them aside to be distributed to the others at a later time. He’s folding the last of the clothes that had been unfit to give to anybody else when he comes across it. 

It isn’t much; something most people would have considered a rag, and thrown out long ago. But Steve recognizes it the instant his fingers touch the soft grey cotton, and the tears fill his eyes again. He unfolds the worn out grey t-shirt and lays it across his knees as he once again slumps back against the foot of the bed. The hems of the sleeves and the collar had begun to fray, and there was a small hole in the left armpit, a little stain on the centre of the chest. 

Steve had caused that stain. He remembers that too. The night Bucky had come home with his recruitment papers, Steve had sobbed so hard as Bucky held him to his chest that he’d started to cough. He coughed, and coughed, and blood mixed with his saliva and it spattered across his best friend’s chest. But Bucky didn’t care, he’d just held Steve tighter and cried silently too.

He remembers nights snuggled in close; his face buried into the same soft grey cotton with Bucky’s strong arms around him, and gently whispered words of love in his ear.

He remembers shivering so violently in the cold winter nights, hand clutching tight to the same t-shirt as Bucky did his best to envelop Steve with his whole body to warm him. 

Delicately, Steve lifts the shirt from where he’d laid it across his knees and brings it to his face, burying his nose in the cotton as he breathes in deep. It still smelled like him; musty, and woodsy, and something that was so distinctly Bucky that Steve couldn’t help but cry. It starts off as silent tears, but at the scent of his lost love fills his nose, and the memories flood back, those silent tears turn to silent sobs that simply shake his shoulders. 

_Bucky waking up early to fix him breakfast… Bucky sitting beside his bedside long before they ever fell in love when he was sick, holding his frail little hand… Bucky gazing up at him and saying his name when he’d rescued his best friend from that Hydra base… The two of them running through the streets of Brooklyn playing tag… Their first kiss… The first time they’d made love…._

The sobs grow harder, and Steve sucks in shaking gasps of air, Bucky’s shirt still pressed to his face. 

_“It’s ok, Buck, I can make it on my own.”_

_“But the thing is, you don’t have to… ‘Cause I’m with you, ‘till the end of the line, pal”_

Steve hardly notices the way his body rocks back and forth. 

_“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back!”_

_“How can I, when you’re taking all the stupid with you?”_

His chest tightens and he can’t stop. Tears stream down his face, staining the worn grey fabric, and he sob harder still.  

_“I’m with you, ‘till the end of the line.”_

“Liar!” Steve breathes as the sentence plays over and over in his head. “You weren’t supposed to leave me.” His voice is weak, and it shakes as he speaks as if Bucky could hear him. His face contorts in grief and agony, hands gripping the t-shirt that still smells like Bucky tighter and he still can’t stop. “You weren’t supposed to leave me…” 

_… “‘Till the end of the line”…_

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by:
> 
> [THIS](http://lovealetterbomb.tumblr.com/post/98856840123/it-means-i-cant-get-drunk)
> 
> scene from Captain America: The First Avenger.
> 
> And a slew of songs including:   
> Birdy - Tee Shirt  
> Keaton Henson - You  
> Miranda Lambert - Over You  
> Miss May I - Echoes   
> Avril Lavigne - Slipped Away  
> David Gray - The Other Side


End file.
